


Not Your Average B Slasher Movie

by babybluecas, Unforth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, First Dates, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Teenagers, Urban Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 03:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybluecas/pseuds/babybluecas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: A one-on-one first date at an isolated cabin with love-of-his-life Cas?  Sign Dean right the fuck up.Everything is going peachy-keen, until Cas, damn him to hell, justhasto go and tell Dean all about notorious local murderer Alastair...A collaboration between unforth and babybluecas, done for the Writers of Destiel discord Promptus Exchangarama





	Not Your Average B Slasher Movie

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in collaboration between babybluecas and Unforth for the Promptus Exchangarama challenge, in which one of us started writing the fic inspired by a given prompt and the other finished it.
> 
> This fic was started by babybluecas and finished by Unforth.
> 
> The prompt was: 'horror movie'
> 
> Check out the other fruit of our collaboration: [Lost and Found](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220532)
> 
> Thanks to my lovely collaborator, Unforth! It's been super fun working with you :)

Dean lets out a quiet yet obnoxious yawn, mouth wide, his right arm stretching above Cas’s head. But before he gets to let it down, slowly, to rest across Cas’s shoulders, the guy’s eyes snap off the screen and turn to him, a dash of concern splayed on his brow.

“Do you want to go to sleep yet?”

Leave it to Cas to ruin Dean’s favorite, if a little cliché, move that’s totally worked on every single first date Dean’s been on before Cas. Leave it to Cas to be completely oblivious to the arm still awkwardly hung, mid-air, stuck between the no-longer-smooth landing and the face-saving retrieve.

The latter it is.

“No, no, I’m good. Let’s keep watching.”

Wordlessly, Cas does, but Dean doesn’t miss a flash of something like disappointment. And Dean sure hopes it’s not ‘cause Cas’d rather be sleeping, though even sleeping sounds better than watching more of the torture on the screen. Some B-class slasher: a bunch of dumb teens being killed off one by one during their reprieve at a cabin in the woods. For some reason, standing in the horror aisle of their local VHS rental store, Dean decided it’d be hilarious to watch during their real life trip to Cas’s uncle’s cozy, remote cabin.

All they got in return for the time they’ve wasted watching the first hour are buckets of corn syrup dyed red, random jump scares, and an endless loop of Wilhelm scream that not even the now-ex-virgin’s (and practically ex-alive’s) boobs can make up for.

And then those dumbass characters freakin’ split up,  _ again _ .

“Oh, come on!” Dean growls at the TV. “It’s like they don’t even want to stay alive!”

“It’s just a bad movie, Dean,” Cas soothes him, a smirk on his lips.

At least Cas is amused.

“Why…do they always…split up!?”

“Enough,” Cas decides and unceremoniously switches the TV off, not even bothering to stop the player. “It’s good to know you’d know how to keep us safe if Alastair comes to slaughter us.”

“Oh, you bet—wait, what did you say?”

“I was joking.”

It sounded a little too specific for a random joke. Especially that name… There’s something eerily familiar about it. Its very sound raises hairs on the back of Dean’s neck.

“Alastair?”

“You know about that?”

“No, but I mean—name like that? It’s like his parents wanted him to become a sadistic serial killer.”

“I never said he was a sadistic serial killer,” Cas says without a beat.

They stare at each other in tense silence. The only thing the scene’s lacking is a dramatic rumble of thunder rolling outside the window.

“Okay, then, I’ll bite.”

Dean feels he might come to regret it. Not because he’s scared of some urban legend, of course, but because Cas’s nearly palpable excitement to tell Dean about it is rather disconcerting.

“It happened years before you moved here,” Cas begins, shifting to face Dean, his legs crossed on the couch. “I was too young to understand it when it happened, but Gabriel was sure to tell me all the gory details later on.”

Well, that explains a lot.

“Oh, right, because everything your brother says is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

Cas only rolls his eyes. “I didn’t believe it either, but Gabe took me to the library to see the old papers. It was all there!”

“Okay, okay.” Dean lifts his palms to placate him. “So what did this Alastair guy do?”

“Let me start with the family. Parents, uncle and their two teenage children. For them, it was a night like any other during their small family retreat to the summer cottage they hadn’t even finished renovating. They ate a late dinner, as always, then moved on to having a riveting session of Scrabble—”

“Hold on, how could you possibly know that?”

“From the bloody planchette left on the crime scene,” Cas says with a blank face. “And the letters forced down the uncle’s throat.”

Dean swallows hard.

“At least it wasn’t Jenga?” he tries, but neither of them finds it particularly funny.

“May I—?” Cas asks and, once Dean waves at him to continue, he returns to his grizzly, over-the-top tale. “The game went on long past the sunset, and the darkness of the moonless night thickly covered the surrounding forest. But inside the warm and cozy cottage, the light was on, and the sounds of laughter and friendly squabble filled the air. The daughter, who was going to leave for college a couple days later, had just scored a word worth 110 points. She was boasting about leading the scoreboard when there came a knock on the door.”

Yeah, ‘cause obviously  _ that  _ was in the police report. Dean holds back from rolling his eyes. At least Cas is good at spinning a tall tale—better than Dean would have expected him to be.

“The family looked at one another, surprised. After all, they were in the middle of the forest, and the clock was about to strike twelve. It must be something important, they thought. Maybe a ranger had come to warn them about an approaching forest fire. Maybe a trekker couldn’t find their way back to their camp. They didn’t suspect what danger they were inviting into their home because no one ever does.

“The father looked through the peephole, but it was too dark outside to see anything more than a dark form. So he opened the door. On the porch stood a man, tall, thin as a blade of grass. His skin was ashen, as if he’s just arisen from the morgue. His eyes looked dead and burning at the same time.

“Later people would say: what a shame they didn’t listen to the news. What a shame they never checked their phones, hadn’t realized that they were out of receiver range. Maybe someone could have warned them…”

“About a zombie?” Dean prompts, impatiently, as Cas lets the sentence hang in suspense.

“Can you stop interrupting me, Dean?” Cas grumbles, irritated. “You just completely ruined it.”

Dean pulls a face, then theatrically zips his mouth and thrusts the pretend key into his pocket.

“Earlier that very same day, a few miles outside the town, a deranged and deadly dangerous inmate, only known as Alastair, escaped the West Valley Institution for the Criminally Insane.”

Oh come on, he’s gotta be kidding. Cas can’t possibly believe Dean’ll fall for a story he’s heard a dozen times before.

He doesn’t say anything, though, because his mouth is zipped and padlocked.

“Alastair travelled quickly through the empty alleyways, under the cover of the night, to put as much distance as he could between himself and the prison, and soon the noises of the chase died down. But by that time, he was tired and lost in the forest that he’d thought would protect him.

“That’s when he saw a light. It shone across the distance, small yet bright, leading him to a shelter like the beacon on a lighthouse.”

Dean can’t hold back a chuckle. Who’d have thought Cas had such a flare for dramatics?

Dean's laughter is enough to tip the scale though and Cas lets out a long, annoyed sigh. “The whole family was found dead the next morning,” he summarizes.

Guess that means no gory details for Dean tonight.

“Let me guess, Alastair’s still somewhere out there, wandering the woods, looking for the light in the darkness and waiting for his next victims to invite him in.”

“No.” Cas squints at Dean as if it was Dean who had said the most ridiculous thing. “They caught him three days later, two counties away. Luckily, he hadn’t murdered anyone else on his path.”

Dean purses his lips. “Okay, good. Then we’re safe. No crazy killer is coming for us,” he quips.

“You still don’t believe me. Go on—” Cas grabs the cellphone from the table, pushes it into Dean’s hand “—call Gabe. Hell, call Michael. He would have been starting high school with the son that fall. And you know he wouldn’t make something like that up.”

Dean definitely doesn’t want to have a friendly chat about a murderer with either of Cas’s brothers. Or any chat with them, period. But Cas is staring at him so intently, so apparently offended, that for a moment, Dean considers humoring him and brings the phone to his face.

No signal.

“We’re out of range,” he announces and puts the phone aside. Saved by the lack of a bell. “And I believe you, Cas. Wacko murders happen all the time, so why wouldn’t that one be true? Glad he’s locked up.”

“Well. If he escaped once…” But this time Cas is totally messing with Dean—so says his blasé smirk, and his palm slapped on Dean’s leg.

“Worry not,” Dean says, leaning forward. “I’ll protect you from any evil son of a bitch that comes this way.”

Cas leans close too, his hand sliding up Dean’s thigh, his face suddenly so near Dean’s. His lips are inches away from Dean’s lips when he says, “I like to hear that.”

They sit there, frozen for what feels like forever, neither of them sure of the next move. But Dean wants to kiss Cas so freakin’ badly, has wanted to for so long. He’s damned if he’ll pass up a chance like this.

He holds his breath and slowly,  _ painfully _ slowly, crosses the distance between them, in a silence so deep he can hear his own heart pounding.

Cas doesn’t move away, doesn’t flinch. He’s waiting. Holding his breath, too.

But before their lips touch, before Dean can finally show Cas how he’s felt about him for all these years, thundering behind Dean’s back comes a pounding on the cabin’s door.

Startled, Dean jerks away from Cas, twisting to stare at the door. “The fuck? You expecting someone?”

Cas shakes his head. “I’d better go see who’s there. I’ll be careful,” he adds with a playful smile, starting toward the door, “it might be Alastair.”

“Nuh-uh,” says Dean, grabbing Cas’s arm.

“What, scared?”

“Of an urban myth? Fuck no. But better safe than dead, and it’s fricken horror 101— _ never split up _ , Cas!”

Waggling a reprimanding finger at Cas, Dean walks with him to the door. Cas chuckles, as if there is literally  _ anything  _ funny about this situation, and Dean steps before him and opens the door.

There’s no one out there.

Of-fucking-course there’s no one out there.

Light spills, yellow as sunshine, from the windows and doorway of the cabin, casting glowing squares onto the forest floor, picking out rough spots on the bark of the nearest trees, gleaming off the chrome of Dean’s car. Beyond the circle of light, the forest is absolutely black. Anything, or any _ one _ , could be lurking out there.

Except a crazed axe killer.

Cause shit like that doesn't happen in real life.

“What does it mean, Dean?”

Man, Cas looks adorable when he's concerned and flustered, glancing in distress between the warm cabin interior, Dean, and the vacant doorway. A chill breeze blows in, sweeping autumn leaves onto the floor.

Despite his conviction that there is  _ nothing  _ to be afraid of, Dean’s heart thuds.

“Nothing,” he says gruffly. “It means abso-fraggin’-lutely nothing.” He puts a hand on the door and jerks it shut. The  _ thud _ as it slams closed is hollow, and Dean is only reassured when he also clicks all three locks on it.

And why does the isolated cabin in the woods have three locks, anyway?

“...but…what if someone is hurt out there? Maybe we should—”

“No, Cas. It’s a hungry bear, or a fallen tree branch—”

“Tree branches don’t  _ knock _ , Dean!”

“—or some jackass kids pranking us. And regardless, it doesn’t mean jack shit.” The longer Dean talks, the more confident he feels. He’s seen about a bazillion horror movies, and he knows the drill. Going outside is either ridiculous—because there’s no threat—or suicide—cause there  _ is _ a threat—and either way, Cas and Dean are right where they should be. “The safest thing for us to do is lock the doors and windows and stay together, in the cabin. The  _ dumbest _ thing for us to do would be to go out there and look around. Injured people don’t ring and run!”

Slowly, brow still furrowed, teeth nervously chewing at his lip, Cas nods. “Yeah...yes, of course, you’re right. But I swear, Dean—I’ve stayed at this cabin dozens of times and nothing like this has  _ ever _ happened. Maybe I'm overreacting, but I’m scared.”

“Hey…” With as warm a smile as he can muster, Dean puts an arm around Cas and pulls him into a rough hug. "If you’re really freaked, we can leave. Let’s just get back in my car and, I dunno, drive to a motel, or I could drive you home, or wherever you’re most comfortable. You wanna go?” Cas snuggles up to him, and Dean feels more than sees the answering nod. “Okay—okay, no biggie.” Leaving is stupid, but there’s no lunatic out there, and Dean still might get laid after all this, so… “Let’s go.”

“What about our belongings?” Cas mumbles into Dean’s shirt. “...or the lamp...or anything.”

“Leave it,” says Dean. “We can come back tomorrow and get it. If we turn off the lights we won’t be able to see our hands in front of our faces out there. Mother Nature will survive one fricken night of our wasting electricity for three lightbulbs.”

“I guess you’re right…”

“‘Course I’m right! Come on—let’s go.”

Dean tugs Cas toward the door, and Cas reluctantly follows his lead; they walk outside together, stand together as Cas locks the door. Dean’s eyes search the dark. This far from the city, there’s not the faintest glimmer of light other than the still-glowing windows, like beacons of safety in the night. The ordinary sounds of the forest seem eerie when Dean’s hackles are already up. A bird calls. A branch clacks. An insect chirps. A toad croaks. 

It’s just the fucking  _ woods _ .

Projecting confidence, safety, strength, Dean strides to the car. Cas trails behind him.

“I don’t like this...it’s so dark…”

“Get in the fucking car, Cas.”

“...but what if…”

Rolling his eyes, Dean stops and turns to find Cas frozen, staring into the darkness like a goddamn deer in headlights, except, like, in reverse.  _ A deer in...blacklights? _

“Get. In. The. Car.”

_ A Cas in the dark. _

Thank fricken God, Cas obeys, circling to the passenger side while Dean unlocks the Impala and drops into the driver’s seat. He reaches across the front seat to unlock the passenger door, then puts the key in the ignition as Cas hurries into the passenger seat. Cas pulls his door shut with a resounding clank as Dean turns the key…and nothing happens.

“Seriously?!” Dean exclaims, smacking the steering wheel. The wiggles the key, tries again, hears the  _ fwap-fwap-fwap  _ of the transmission turning, and...

Fucking nothing.

“Oh my God, Dean, what’s wrong with the car? What if we—”

“Shut up,” says Dean tersely. “I’m trying to hear the motor.” He turns the key again, hears the  _ fwap-fwap-fwap _ again, tries a third time, and heaves a sigh.

“Does that sound mean something?” Cas asks, hysteria ringing his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Some jackass siphoned our gas,” says Dean. Opening his car door, he shouts out into the night, "And it’s not fucking funny!”

No one answers, not that Dean thought anyone would.

“Now what?” Cas freaking out isn't helping Dean's nerves.

“Back in the cabin.”

“Are we trapped here?”

“Naw,” says Dean, getting out of the car and closing his door again. “We can walk to Sunoco in the morning.”

“That’s four miles!” Cas squawks. He’s out of the car, at least, looking wild-eyed at Dean over the top of the sedan.

“What,  _ now  _ you’re afraid of a hike?” Dean laughs. “You were singin’ a different song on that death march you took me on earlier.”

“You said you liked the view from the mountain top…”

“And I did,” agrees Dean. Cas is  _ still _ not moving, so Dean circles the car, takes his hand, and tugs him toward the cabin. “But I like the view here way better.” He winks at Cas, and Cas flushes, his eyes going wide.

“You’re horny?” Cas asks as he unlocks the cabin door and gestures Dean into the interior. “ _ Now _ ?”

“You’re not?” Dean waggles a suggestive eyebrow. “Adrenaline going—full fight or flight mode—no real danger—all that energy’s gotta find an outlet  _ somewhere _ .”

“I’m mostly scared,” mutters Cas, closing the door behind them. There’s something off to his tone, though, almost like...his heart isn’t in it? Confused, Dean watches Cas as he makes his tentative way back into the cabin, stops by the couch, and looks around. 

Cas looks...kinda terrified.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Dean says gently, taking Cas’s arm, leading him to sit. It’s weird, how much guidance Cas needs. In years of friendship, Dean has never seen this side of Cas’s personality. “It’s almost Halloween.” How is this the same dude who, cool as a cucumber, talked about some poor guy getting Scrabble tiles stuffed down his throat? “Kids get dumb when they’re trying to impress their friends.” Still, Dean had seen enough to know folks don’t always react to fright like he’d expect. “I’ll lay you any odds that this is some neighbor testing how bad they can freak out the visiting weekenders.” Cas allows himself to be directed, sits at Dean’s nudge, smiles when Dean sits beside him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Cupping Cas’s cheek, Dean is relieved and pleased that Cas nuzzles into the touch, eyes closing, fear finally seeming to ease.

Dean leans in, pursing his lips for the kiss.

A door slams, the rattle-crunch reverberating through the cabin.

“Is someone inside?” asks Cas frantically, jerking away from Dean’s hand to look, terrified, around the room.

Cock blocked  _ again _ .

When Cas invited Dean for a first date at his damn  _ family cabin _ Dean had thought, yeah, it was a little fucking weird, but surely an overnight date at an isolated cabin meant sex galore.

Things are  _ definitely  _ not going as Dean anticipated.

“Gotta be.” Dean tries to sound undistressed. He’s not scared—what’s there to be scared of? Dean’s a badass and he knows it—but this is getting  _ annoying.  _ And when the hell did these dipshits sneak into the house? The front door has been locked except when Cas and Dean were literally standing in the entryway. Maybe there’s a second door in the back? Or a window unlocked somewhere?

“Okay.” Cas takes a breath, steeling himself, and rises, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. “I will go investigate.”

Who the hell goes to this much trouble for some juvenile prank?

“Fuck that.”

Who the hell goes to this much trouble to commit crazed axe murder?

“...you go investigate?”

Who the hell goes to this much trouble...period?

“Do. not. split. up.”

Literally  _ no one  _ in their right mind would go to this much effort just to spook Dean and his date.

“No one goes alone anywhere.” Dean stands, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. Okay, maybe he’s a  _ little  _ spooked. “We look together. Let’s go.”

Dean’s instincts suggest he go slowly, his heart pounding with every step, each door creaking open as he dares to learn what or who might be beyond. And it’s bullshit, and infuriating, and he’s not going to play into this fantasy of a horror movie that somehow is becoming his first date with a hot guy he’s lusted after for-fricken-ever. So instead, he storms through the house, forcing Cas to keep up. He throws open doors, drops down to look beneath furniture, and checks the locks on windows. It’s not a big cabin—three rooms on the first floor, two on the second. 

There’s no one there.

But the windows on the second floor are unlocked, and— “Cas, I thought you locked these,” says Dean, the words coming slowly as his thoughts spin.

No. one. would go to this much trouble for a prank…

...unless the pranksters aren’t strangers.

“I did.” Cas trails behind Dean, lingering on the stairs, looking fearfully up the stairs, down the stairs, everywhere but at Dean and the window locks he’s clicking into place.

Hence, he misses Dean’s skeptically raised eyebrow until Dean says, “Cas?” Only then does Cas look up, and maybe it’s Dean’s imagination—fuck knows it’s a night to make his imagination play tricks—but he could swear he sees a flash of guilt.

“I locked them, Dean.”

And Dean’s not imagining shit, there’s  _ definitely _ a lame lack of conviction to Cas’s words, and he still won’t meet Dean’s eyes, and nothing about this makes any fucking sense, but it makes even less sense if it’s some kind of weird-ass random thing, and—

Dean sighs, and Cas grimaces. “Go sit downstairs, Cas.”

“But what if there’s someone up here?” Bless Cas, he musters a little heart and manages to get that edge of terror into his voice, but Dean’s not buying it any more.

“There’s no one up here.” Dean’s confidence increases the more Cas deflates. The charade is over. “Go to the couch. I’ll lock up and be down in a sec.”

“Don’t split up?” asks Cas...optimistically? A flicker of doubt niggles at Dean. It makes no sense for a stranger, or an escaped whackjob, or a bored teenager, or anyone, to fuck with them like this...but it makes no sense for Cas to be in on it, either. Why the heck would Cas do this to him?

“Fine, hang out on the stairs. I don’t give a fuck.”

Dean slides every window lock into place and closes the doors behind himself.

Cas has had a hand in every aspect of the evening: planning the date, arranging the cabin with his uncle, urging Dean to pick a B horror movie at the rental place, bringing up that damn Alastair story…

Fear and adrenaline and worry gradually transitioning to anger; Dean roughly pushes past Cas on his way downstairs, not bothering to check if Cas has followed him. 

Something  _ chink-chank-clunks _ against the windows downstairs, but Dean has no fucks left to give. Cas trails behind Dean, wilting when Dean shoots him a glare. Dean makes an expansive gesture toward the chunky sofa, and Cas sinks into it. 

Something  _ whams _ against the side of the house, and Cas musters a fearful gasp and half rises, but Dean stalks to the kitchen door, slams it shut, and turns back. Cas is still damnably hot, sitting there with his hair tousled and his cheeks pale and his lip caught nervously between his teeth.

Something  _ knock, knock, knocks _ against the door, and Dean resists the urge to storm over and yell his irritation into the pitch black of night.

Fuck, all Dean wants is to kiss Cas senseless, maybe get laid, make pancakes in the morning, and instead, now his brain is running over time and he has so many suspicions, and the annoying shit outside keeps startling him. And he wants to confront Cas, to lay out the conclusions he’s drawn in a clear, coherent manner, fricken Angela Lansbury confronting the suspects—yes, he watched fucking “Murder, She Wrote,” and if Cas calls him out for it  _ now  _ he’ll deck him—but his eyes meet Cas’s, and Dean knows,  _ knows _ , and all he can say is…

“Why?”

Something  _ zzzzts _ and the electricity flickers off before returning, lamps glowing more dimly than before.

“What’re you talking about?” Cas says testily.

Something hits the roof of the cabin so hard the building shakes.

Dean stares him down until Cas slouches back into the couch, rubbing his temples. “Why?” Dean repeats.

And Cas nods slowly.

And Cas rises.

And Cas walks to the door, pulls it open as if the locks aren't even there, and shouts into the darkness, “Would you knock it off, Gabe?”

There’s no answer, only a  _ knock, knock, knock  _ that somehow seems mocking, and then silence.

The cabin doesn’t shake.

The windows don’t rattle.

The light levels go back to normal.

Cas shuts the door, appears to  _ actually _ lock it, and returns to the couch. He gestures for Dean to sit, but Dean’s temper is hot; Dean circles the room, stomping, wishing there was a single damn thing he felt comfortable smashing to smithereens.

“What the fuck?” he stammers, clenching fists and releasing them. He knows rationally that his anger is actually lingering, transformed fear, but understanding that doesn’t change how his heart pounds, how his throat tightens, how his vision tinges red.

“Sit, Dean,” offers Cas. His softness, his vulnerability, finally breaks through Dean’s ire, and, with a huff that releases some of his rage, Dean drops into the armchair. “May I tell you a story?”

“What, ‘bout Alastair?” Dean replies acidly. His fingers tap on the arm rests; he crosses his legs, then uncrosses them, no position comfortable. Cas is so far away, and the evening is so far from anything Dean expected, and...and…

“I made that up,” Cas admits.

“Awesome.” Dean scowls. 

Why is Cas talking? 

“But this story is true.”

Why is Dean listening?

“Of course it is.”

Why is he even still sitting here?

“When I was a freshman in college, I got waylaid by some homophobic assholes. They beat me up while I yelled for help, and my boyfriend heard me and came running to help. My attackers gave him a choice—him or me. And he left me there!”

“That sucks, seriously—but relevance?” Dean offers Cas a sympathetic grimace, but it’s hard to be more supportive after the what-the-fuckery of the last hour.

“Then, a couple years later, my next boyfriend and I were traveling, and we got mugged. One of the guys had a gun. I turned over my wallet and phone, but I tried to hide a necklace my dad had left me. After my boyfriend emptied his pockets, the gunman threatened us again, said if we were holding out on them, he’d shoot us, and my boyfriend told them about my necklace. And he’d peed himself.”

“Wow, you’re like a douchebag magnet.”

“Yes, I am,” says Cas with a pointed stare. Dean can’t help but chuckle. “When it happened twice, that was just terrible luck—I figured, live and learn, dump the losers, move on with my life.” Dean’s not a douche. “But when it happened a third time my first year out of school?” He’s awesome, and he’s proven it. “Yet, despite my attempts to vet my significant others, I kept dating cowards.”  _ He  _ hadn’t ditched Cas in a scary situation. “I never wanted that to happen again.”

“What, so...you staged all of this to weed me out? To be sure I wouldn’t abandon you?” It’s hard not to sound smug. Dean’s a badass, and the night gave him a perfect opportunity to show that.

Heck, in light of Cas’s explanation, Dean isn’t even pissed about the prank any longer.

“Not just you,” Cas explains. “It was Gabe’s idea originally. Set up a fake fright, see how dudes react. The first time, it was just a jump scare with a dollar store Halloween costume—and the guy screamed like he’d been stabbed, and bolted. Our plans and methods have gotten more elaborate since then.”

If it hadn’t happened to Dean, like, if he just heard a friend talk about planning this as a horror LARP or something, Dean would have thought it sounded pretty awesome.

“You’re the first guy to pass the test—and the first to figure out it  _ was  _ a test.”

Now that he knows it wasn’t for real, it’s even been, maybe...kinda amazing.

“I—uh, I’d kinda gotten to the point where I thought no one would ever make it.” Cas looks embarrassed again, and adorably flustered, and Dean wants to kiss him even more than he did earlier.

“I never considered what I’d tell someone who passed—how I’d explain what we’d done, or how they might feel about being deceived. And now that I’m sitting here, I realize...this was a terrible idea. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t be,” Dean says gruffly.

“Gabriel should have your siphoned gas in his car, and...wait, what?”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean says. “And don’t worry about the gas. I, uh. I had fun.”

“You had…”

“I had fun.” Repeating the words drives home how truly Dean means them. “Was it nine kinds of crazy? Maybe, yeah. But you’re awesome, and the scares got my heart racing, and if I really passed your test...I’d be up for staying. If you wanted.”

To Dean’s shock, Cas throws himself out of the couch, into Dean’s lap, and smashes their lips together sloppily. Their teeth knock, their noses bump, and a smear of saliva dampens and cools Dean’s lower lip. It’s a shit kiss, but hell, most first kisses are, and Dean has high hopes that they’ll have a lot of time to practice. Cas confirms those hopes with his second attempt, leaning into Dean, teasing at Dean’s lips with his tongue, cupping Dean’s cheek and working their mouths together tenderly. Dean is delighted to reciprocate, wrapping an arm around Cas’s shoulders, drawing him close, savoring every moment.

_ Clang, clang, clang _ goes a pipe somewhere in the back of the house.

“Quit it, Gabe!” Cas and Dean shout simultaneously.

“Will you two wait ‘til I leave before bumping hideously uglies?” counters a muted voice from outside.

Cas and Dean exchange a look and break into gales of laughter, the last of the fear-wrought tension dissipating. With Cas heavy in his lap, giving him bedroom eyes, smiling, flushed from their kiss, it’s hard to feel anything but a wonderful glow of happiness.

Heck, not only had the night been fun...

“So, Cas, have you heard about these horror camps some folks run?” Dean asks. Cas shakes his head. “There’s one outside of Lawrence—my friend Charlie told me ‘bout it. It’s like a murder mystery dinner, except full-on horror, dyed corn syrup and all. If you’d like—”

...Dean’d kinda like to do it again.

Cas interrupts with another rushed, messy kiss. “I’d like,” he says breathlessly, stealing another kiss, and another. “Let’s do it.”

“Sounds like a plan for date two—they hold them last weekend of every month.”

“Why wait that long?” breathes Cas. “Between now and then? I think we can manage a date two and three…maybe even four, five and six…”

Oh yeah. Dean has  _ zero  _ complaints with how the evening has gone.

He passed the test.

Score.


End file.
